


girl, you walk like a dirge

by antematter



Category: Reign (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antematter/pseuds/antematter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men always want something. They want your crown, your body, your love, and no matter what you think Conde isn’t just there to be your friend, and no matter what Francis says, you’re not enough, not enough to replace a whole family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	girl, you walk like a dirge

**Author's Note:**

> episode tag to getaway. i ship mary/healing, and also can she and bash please talk ever?

Here is a story.

She is a girl.

Here is a story.

She is a girl, and she is small and she is hurt and alone, and she’s realised how much she’s been hurting Francis.

All the things they’ve done to each other. She’s hurting, yes, and she won’t stop hurting, but she loves him, and she has to believe love is enough.

Except this time it’s not. This time she’s too late.

It’s a recurring theme in Mary Stuart’s life, really. She was too late to save Aylee, too late to save her baby, too late to warn Conde to stay away from her. Too late to save herself from the monsters under her bed, in her bedroom, and now in her head.

She’s running before she knows it. The corridors are deserted, her footsteps echoing emptily through the halls. Heart pounding, skirts swishing, she just can’t get that picture out of her head: Francis, Lola, and the baby. A family that she cannot give him. A family she’s not sure she wants anymore.

Warm arms around her, her flight is suddenly halted. She recoils at the touch, then looks up into Bash’s face. His eyes are so concerned that she instantly knows. He knows.

“What do you want?” she blurts out, shaking herself free.

He steps back, hands up, palms facing her like one would to a wounded animal. “Nothing!” he says, “nothing.”

It’s not true, Mary thinks to herself. Men always want something. They want your crown, your body, your love, and no matter what you think Conde isn’t just there to be your friend, and no matter what Francis says, you’re not enough, not enough to replace a whole family.

But Bash is married now, and everyone talks about how happy Bash and Kenna are together – the unlikely happy ending and the unexpected love story. And it’s not like that between her and Bash anymore, and she’s happy they’re happy, really, but seeing him now is a painful reminder of how things could have been.

Or maybe it was always going to end this way, she thinks.

“Are you okay?” he asks carefully.

A ‘yes’ is on the tip of her tongue as Mary rearranges her features into a neutral expression, but she can’t bring herself to lie to Bash. Not when this is the first time alone they’ve had in months. Not when they’ve been avoiding each other this whole time, lying about what they once were, what they once shared.

“I don’t know,” she breathes. “I don’t think so.”

He nods. Suddenly everything feels too heavy, and she leans against the cold stone of the castle wall. Her head feels like it’s burning up. She slides to the ground so that she is sitting. Bash kneels down beside her.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, then realises he’s already asked.

Mary laughs. “Are you?”

His hair is tousled and sleep lurks in the corners of his eyes. Now that she is closer to him, she can see how tired he looks. “It’s been a rough couple of days,” he replies.

“Has it?” she asks, but what she really means is _when is it not?_

“Framed an innocent man,” he says, “Lied to Kenna about it. Lied to Kenna about so many things.’

She looks at him.

“But,” he continues, “that’s who I am.”

It would be so easy to reach out and take his hand, but Mary can’t. Instead, she keeps looking at him, clear eyed and honest. “No,” she says, “it isn’t.” And it’s true.

He nods once, and she knows he understands. Once upon a time they understood each other perfectly.

A moment passes between them. Mary aches with the hardness of the stone floor beneath her and the cold, cold wall against her back, but she relishes it as a welcome distraction from the emptiness. Maybe Francis and Lola will be awake by now, she thinks. Maybe their eyes are meeting over the tiny form of their child.

It’s not jealousy she feels, really. Francis is free to do as he pleases. They lead separate lives now, after all, despite what he might profess. He’s free to continue his association with Lola, and with her blessing, and create a dozen tiny versions of himself with her. Tiny copies of Francis that were supposed to have her hair and her eyes and –

Maybe it is jealousy she feels.

“I thought you were going to look for Francis.” Bash says as if reading her thoughts.

Mary looks away. “I did,” she replies lightly. “”But he and Lola and the baby were asleep.”

Bash reads between the lines, like he always has. “I’m sorry,” he says now. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I shouldn’t have expected anything different,” she replies.

“I know. But he didn’t – It isn’t like that.”

Of course it isn’t like that. Fully clothed and with a baby between them is hardly conducive to anything being, well, _like that_. Just – the intimacy of it all. The rise and fall of their three chests, the space between them growing slowly smaller, the nearness and warmth of their bodies - she gasps for breath, claustrophobic just thinking about it.

She is jealous of that intimacy, craves the ability to be that close to someone, yet the mere thought of it has her tight chested, clammy, and breathing shallowly in this dark dark corridor.

Bash is still watching her, and there is no judgement on his face. “Does it get better?” he asks.

She wants to laugh and she’s about to cry, so she lets out a hysterical combination of both. “I don’t know.”

He blinks slowly. “Kenna’s mad at me,’ he says, and a little of the pressure in her throat eases away at the change of topic. “I didn’t tell her … about a past dalliance with Claude.”

Why not, she thinks. It’s this new world that she’s found herself in: men attack women, married men and married women have carnal relations in public, her husband’s cousin confesses his love for her when she has none more to give – why shouldn’t Bash have had a past dalliance with Claude?

“I may have lied to her about it,” he continues. “That’s not me.”

She looks at Bash and she sees him. _If Francis has you, why would he ever look anywhere else? Your presence is light._

_To see you smile is to feel the sun, Your Grace._

What a tragedy it is, then, to love both men, but always Francis more.

“That’s not you,” she echoes.

They sit together in silence for a while, until all that they have lost starts crowding between them. Then slowly, Bash gets up. He offers his hand to Mary to help her up, and she looks up at him. In the dim flamelight from the torches on the wall, it’s almost difficult to look directly at him. The light is shining over his shoulders, and she wants to look away, dizzy.

“What happened, Bash?” she asks. Her voice sounds plaintive, even to her. “We were friends once, before everything.”

“It wasn’t enough,” he says simply. “You were a queen before everything else.”

Except she’s not.

Here is a story.

Sometimes Mary of Scots is just a girl. And girls can get their hearts broken too.

She takes his hand, and he pulls her from the ground.


End file.
